


with knives and agony

by rexdaemoniorum



Series: Inner Circle [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Boy King of Hell Sam Winchester, Gen, Major Original Character(s), Prince of Hell | Yellow-Eyed Demon Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester is Called Samael, Season/Series 09
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:42:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22285024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rexdaemoniorum/pseuds/rexdaemoniorum
Summary: After a chance meeting with Martis, a demon who claims to have retained his humanity, Sam ponders a proposition he was given- storm Hell, kill Crowley, and take the throne.(A backstory for my art/ask blog https://rex-daemoniorum.tumblr.com/)
Relationships: Sam Winchester & Original Character(s)
Series: Inner Circle [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1228925
Comments: 33
Kudos: 110





	1. I

_ “There’s demons in Hell still waiting for you, you know.” _

When Martis had first told Sam that, it wasn’t technically  _ news _ . He’d remembered the demons he saw down there, who looked at him like he held up the world. Were there really that many? Enough to justify a coup? 

Martis was different. Sam felt ridiculous just thinking about justifying one more demon, but really- he meant it. He wasn’t getting on his good side by presenting a strong argument or game plan, like Ruby had done all those years ago. This was a genuine plea, straight from the heart.  _ Think about it. With Hell under your control, you can save countless lives. _

He had told Sam to meet him at a coffee shop that was a five minute walk from the motel he and Dean were staying at. Sam told his brother he’d gone out for a jog, and headed over. 

Sam walked inside and saw Martis, standing among a sparse crowd of customers. He thought this guy made their meeting place a quaint little coffee shop in order to ensure mutual safety.. but it seemed he just wanted coffee as well. 

"You came!" A smile bloomed on Martis' face. He gave Sam a friendly clap on the shoulder. "You gonna get something?" Sam shook his head. The aura of this rendezvous was much more casual than he was anticipating. "Why don't you find us a place to sit? I'll be over in a second." Martis turned back towards the pick-up bar, where a barista called out his name. _No alias,_ Sam thought. Either this guy was committed to the act, or he really was exactly what he said he was; another well-meaning soul caught up in demonic politics. He joined Sam at a little table with no elbow room.

“So- Martis— how would we even go about taking down Crowley? Seems easier said than done.” Sam asked, his voice seeped in suspicion.

Martis took a brisk sip of his coffee before gladly answering Sam’s question. “Crowley’s pretty outnumbered. There’s a lot of your little groupies still hanging around Hell. We can get you in there easy-peasy.”

Sam adjusted his posture and folded his arms. “So, do I just have to kill Crowley? Is that all there is to it? I doubt the majority of demons would just listen to me.”

“Nah,” The man sounded as if he anticipated that answer. “It’s a bit of a ceremony, so you’ll have to excuse a little gaudiness. There’s a couple rites, might have to cut your palm or something, but after all that glitter and confetti, you’ll easily have several legions of demons under your command.” He glanced around, being cautious of eavesdroppers. “You can do whatever you want with the joint once you’ve got it, Sam. Shut the gates. Stop the deals. Paint the place a different color. It’s up to you.”

Now  _ that’s  _ a way to deal with demons, Sam began to think. If he killed a demon every day for the rest of his life, it still wouldn’t be enough. It’d never be enough. He looked at the passersby outside, at the people in line, and at the people seated. How often did demons go undetected from hunters? Was this the only way to stop them?

“I can assure you, Sam, there’s no ulterior motive. We’re doing this because we want  _ you _ on that throne. So, do you have any more questions?”

Sam chewed his lip in thought before looking back at him. This supposed coup was seeming less like a deal, and more like a common goal. After all, it wasn’t hard to believe the demons were as fed up with Crowley as Sam was. He cleared his throat and asked his last question.

“When do we start?”


	2. II

The first step wasn’t immediate action. Sam wasn’t going to allow that. Gaining his trust was quite the cumbersome task; but Martis wasn’t going to pretend it was unreasonable. He’d been on that side of a demon’s mind games a long time ago, so there weren’t any hard feelings.

A young fledgling demon such as Martis wasn't likely to be the suspect in organizing a coup. But it would also take some counsel with more seasoned demons to further convince Sam that this was no trick. And there were plenty of those. Almost all of the oldest demons despised Crowley. He was a newbie to them. They preferred the king who had been prophesied a long, long time ago.

Crowley’s Hell was all business. There were plenty of outposts hidden among human populations with the intent of sharing, storing and keeping track of contracts made. To no surprise, it was disguised as a normal office with normal people. But there’s no way Sam would have just waltzed into a demon-infested room. That was a trap waiting to be set off. 

He’d given Sam coordinates to their next location- the restaurant across the street. It was a little family-run joint with some great food. “We come here often, give ‘em our patronage, you know? We don’t hurt them. We keep them out of our business entirely.” He said, both of them making their way in. The owner of the joint, a short, stout man with a thinning hairline, gave him a warm, familiar smile and a wave. “There’s only a table of us. Nobody’s gonna give you any trouble.”

“And they’re all in on the plan?” Sam asked. Martis gave him a nod as they turned into the room where the table sat. It was in the corner, tucked away from the hustle and bustle of the lunch rush, but too close for any of them to try anything dangerous. 

Belial was the first one to notice them coming in. Martis saw her say something to the group, and they all turned to get their first glimpse at their king. The two of them took their seats at the table- Martis next to Belial, and Sam on the end next to Martis.

“My, my, hello, Sam,” Belial cooed, leaning over Martis and giving his guest a big smile. “Boy king’s all grown up, now. My name is Belial.” She said warmly, extending a hand. He hesitantly took it in his and shook it. He didn’t smile, but there was a kindness in his eyes. She put a hand in her hair and brushed back a long bang, exposing a blood red eye beneath her nasty scar. “Let me get a better look at you,” she teased. Sam’s brows lifted in surprise, but he didn’t recoil.

“Thanks for not bringing Saleos,” Martis grumbled to Belial, who scoffed. She looked around at the others she had brought. Murmur, Deumus, and Penemuel. None of them as unhinged and freaky as that old fart. 

“Saleos? Please. We’re  _ not  _ trying to make a scene,” she said, looking at the other demons, who found it just as amusing.

“That old bitch would probably cream in his pants if he met Sam,” Penemuel cackled.

Belial straightened up in her seat and turned back to Sam, this time meaning business. “We’re very glad to have you on board, Sam.”

“Just know- lying to me about any of this? Bad idea,” Sam warned. “Especially if this is all some scam to get Lucifer back.”

“No, not at all,” Belial said gently, as if she could completely understand his apprehensiveness. “Our loyalty was and has always been to Azazel. And he’d want you on that throne, with or without Lucifer. We know they told you demons only tell lies, but this is a situation that benefits all of us.”

“That Crowley’s an idiot,” Deumus piped up. “His idea of Hell is some bureaucratic bullshit. No brimstone, no fire. It’s  _ laughable _ .”

“And he’s not even the  _ real _ king,” Murmur chimed in. “He just started up and saying he was the King. No fanfare, no carpets rolled out. He doesn’t  _ really  _ have Hell on his side.” 

“Marty!” The owner called out, marching over to the table. “How you doin’ today, bud, can I get you a coffee? Maybe a pot for the table?” Sam was eyeing the man as he gave Martis a pat on the back. He wasn’t one of them. The man met his eyes and grabbed his hand to shake it. “Who’s this newbie, eh? My name’s Giacomo, nice to meet you.”

“Pleasure,” Sam replied quietly, dimples flashing in that kind smile.

“A pot sounds great, Giacomo. Thank you,” Martis began.

“A-actually, does it, Martis?” Penemuel interjected. “Sorry, he’s the only caffeine freak here. You a coffee person, Sam?” She waited for him to shake his head. “There we have it. Do you have root beer?”

“Sure thing, hon. Anyone else?”

“Nothing for me, thanks,” Sam refused politely. Martis was intrigued. Was he always like this? He’d get through that standoffish exterior eventually. It was just a matter of time.

Giacomo left and the group resumed their conversation. “So,” Sam began, picking it back up. “What exactly does this whole ‘coronation’ entail?”

“There’s a specific weapon you need to kill him with. It won’t work until you activate it with your own blood, which I assume will work just fine with Azazel’s blood running through those veins.” Murmur explained, chewing on his nails.

“Where’s the weapon?”

“Constance,” he continued and glanced towards the other demons. “She has it. She never leaves Hell, though, so you’ll get it when you go down there.”

Martis watched them exchange, glad they seemed to be getting somewhere. Now that Sam was negotiating and asking for details, he was sure that maybe dealing with Crowley would soon become a reality. None of the demons seemed to have considered that Sam may very well shut the gates- did they care? Would they obey? That would be a problem for when it actually happened, if it actually happened.

* * *

“ _ Fergus?! _ ” Deumus nearly choked on her laughter. “His name is  _ Fergus _ ?” 

Sam cracked a smile, and Martis felt a part of him silently cheering. Maybe he was warming up to them. If he became the king, he could really change things around Hell. But they had to take things one step at a time. 

“Yeah, Fergus,” he clarified in his best attempt at a Scottish accent. “We learned it when we tried to find his remains. We almost killed him then, actually.”

Martis gave him a small nudge. “Well, you ready to actually get him this time around?”

The man hesitated before nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

The demons cheered. Some of them raised their glasses. 

“Sam, I’ve been a demon for millennia. I’ve also been one of Azazel’s confidants.” Belial spoke up. “I  _ know _ about you. I’m thinking the sheer excitement just isn’t setting in yet. But you’re gonna make a damn good king.”

They spent another fifteen minutes on small talk before they dispersed. Martis, however, walked Sam to his car.

“By the way, Sam.. that brother of yours,” he piped up. “We ever gonna meet him?”

Sam let out a quick chuckle that sounded anything but pleased. “Probably not,” he murmured. “He’d never agree to this.”

“Really?” Martis was taken aback. Was this why he was so hesitant? Would he have agreed sooner if it weren’t for his brother? “What do you plan on doing about that?”

The man shrugged. “There’s no convincing him this is a good idea. Not until I actually get it done.”

He wasn’t sure what to say to reassure him. But he wanted to keep him on board. Perhaps he’d let Sam figure that familial issue out, and leave the rest of it to him.


	3. III

When Dean woke up one fateful day, he had no idea where Sam went off to- or that he was even gone. Waking up at 11, he’d given his brother a grace period of three hours to get up before he went into Room 21- Sam rarely referred to it as his bedroom— and found it empty. It was as if he’d suddenly vanished from the bunker.

Called his phone.. no response.

Looked in every possible room he could be in.. nowhere to be found.

Cas had no clue, either. When the angel called him back, Dean almost flipped his lid when he had no new information on Sam’s whereabouts.

“Any luck?” Cas began.

“Damnit, man, you had me thinking _you_ found him.”

“I tried to call his phone,” the angel trailed off, and Dean began to pace angrily around the main library where he’d last seen him.

“Cas, I already called, and he didn’t pick up. He wouldn’t change his mind if you called a little later.” 

The beat of silence that followed spoke volumes, and was more indicative of Castiel’s mood than any facial expression he was capable of making.

“Well, I’m.. I’m not saying this is the case, but what if maybe he trusted me more with something than you? If I called—,”

“But he didn’t,” Dean cut him off. There was no time to waste on possible scenarios that weren’t even true at this point. “I thought some dickhead angels may have captured him, but the last I saw of him was in here, and there’s no sign of entry.” All the signs pointed to Sam leaving on his own accord. Whether or not he was captured by some bitches with vendettas afterwards was a whole other thing. He proceeded into the war room, adjacent to the library, gazing upon the computer system that displayed the world map on a table.

“Dean-,” Cas piped up from the other end.

“I mean like, maybe he went on a jog and lost his phone..? I want to believe so badly he wouldn’t just up and leave, without telling me or leaving me a note, so, maybe—“

“ _Dean!”_ His ear was blasted with a loud static crackle that snapped him out of it. He’d gotten so caught up in his own racing thoughts that he’d nearly forgotten what he was doing. Not only was Cas’s voice loud from his sudden outburst, but the signal was beginning to waver as well.

“Dean, I- I just saw some demons. In smoke form. They were in the sky, headed to the east..” 

What he said after wasn’t clear to Dean, as a loud beeping behind him caught his attention and made him turn back to the table. On the world map was a bunch of glowing points all over. 

The same thing that had happened when the angels fell.

“Cas, are the angels saying anything? Tuned into the radio?”

While awaiting an answer, the signal grew even weaker. Between the harsh static, Dean made out the most important part of Cas’ last message:

_—demons are all returning to Hell._

* * *

Dean was ready to rock and roll as soon as Castiel returned to the bunker.

“Calvary Cemetery. Wyoming. Lickety-split, cabbie, let’s go.”

The angel hesitated, and Dean knew he had to elaborate, even with no time to waste.

“We’ve been there, Sam and I. Couldn’t forget the place, even if I tried. Memories. _Let’s go_!”

He bounced in place like a child going to the toy store, except his main emotion was anxiety instead of excitement. Gripping his arm, Cas had both of them sent to their location on the blink of an eye, and the sound of howling wind and rumbling thunder was a bigger shock than the sudden change in scenery. 

“Dean, why are we here?”

“One of the gates. Figured we can get into Hell from this place.” He pointed to the lock smack-dab in the middle of the door, where the Colt was wedged in. “Someone’s already been here, it seems.”

“Was it Sam?” Cas asked, in a tone that implied he knew Dean didn’t have that answer.

“How could it have been? Crowley had the Colt.” The gears in Dean’s head started turning like the ones on the giant iron doors before them now. “Do the gates have to be open for demons to return to Hell? Could any of them have taken the Colt and done this?” He wasn't sure what events led them to this point. But one thing was for certain- Sam was involved.

His thoughts began to race with all the possible explanations. He pushed them aside and turned to Castiel. “The door won’t open if we take it out.. but we have to get in there.”

The angel’s brows furrowed in thought. “You go, Dean. I’ll close the door behind you and keep the Colt safe.”

Dean hated that he didn’t automatically trust him. But Cas, as literal as it may have seemed, wasn’t an angel. He had his moments where trusting him wasn't the safest bet. “Are you sure?”

Cas nodded. “I’ll try to get down there as soon as I can. But you need to go. Sam needs you.” He even gave Dean a little shove in the direction of the door.

With nothing and everything to lose at the same time, the elder Winchester turned the Colt in the lock and watched those ancient doors part. As soon as he passed them, they slammed shut with a bang that made his ears ring. The entrance hadn’t changed a bit since the last time he had been there. The inside, however..

“What.. the.. _fuck_?”

It was a plain looking hallway, the kind you’d go through on your way to a corporate business meeting, complete with decorative chandeliers lighting the way to an elevator at the end. Figures. Crowley really was the king, huh?

His footsteps echoing around him, Dean proceeded further down the hallway until he was hesitantly entering the elevator. Once the doors beeped and closed slowly, he turned his attention to the buttons on the right. There were nine floors, numbering from top to bottom. It was almost comedic. Divinely comedic. At least navigating his way to Sam would be easier than he thought.

He noticed the crown symbol emblazoned on the eighth button down. Something about it made sense. It had to be where the action was happening. Maybe Crowley knew- if he wasn't at the center of all this.

With trembling fingers, he pressed it and felt the elevator shift. He was bound for the Eighth Circle of Hell.


	4. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's Latin in this chapter and I'm like 100% sure it's all bullshit. It's most likely grammatically incorrect and not even translating to what I want it to. Just suspend your disbelief and go with it. LMAO

The doors of Hell opening could probably be heard by demons all over. Martis could testify; it was some sort of deep-seated sensation, a weight off of the chest. After they were wide open, Sam made a baffled sound at the sight of what was behind them.

“Last time this happened, uh..” he scratched his head, “it.. looked more..” made a series of vague hand gestures, “.. _not_ like this.” 

Martis hadn’t been around very long compared to other demons, but he could tell what he was talking about. One would expect the gates of Hell to lead to some otherworldly, volcanic land, and _not_ a lobby.

"I know, right," he groaned. "I spent the latter half of like, what? Eleven years? Just.. dreading the day my soul would be dragged down to Hell." He said, nearly trembling. "To know that _this_ is Hell is.. almost.. _insulting_."

Sam almost stopped in his tracks. "Did you not know when your time was up?" He asked. Martis only gave him a quick glance.

"No," he replied quietly. "I even think I had more time. But I didn't wanna die.. like that, you know?"

The doubtful thoughts in the back of Sam's mind grew weaker and weaker. It wasn't about how convincing Martis seemed anymore. This was genuine. Regardless of how much it was true, Sam was aware that Crowley had a tendency to not give his 'clients' a specific deadline. And that, like many current things in Hell, had to change.

The two stepped inside and proceeded down the bright, blank room and down towards the elevator. 

“There were also a lot more demons getting out, last time, as well,” Sam added as they stepped inside.

“Word spread quickly, Sam,” Martis replied as he pushed the button for the Third Circle. “They know something’s coming. Something worth sticking around for.” 

When he looked at his guest, he couldn’t help but notice how tense he seemed. Unsure of himself. As if he wasn’t the rightful heir to the throne that Crowley was currently sitting on. 

Though the brief moment felt long enough, Sam soon noticed the demon glancing over at him.

“So, what’s the next move?” He asked, and the elevator dinged before opening slowly. Martis led him out into another hallway. It looked more like what Sam expected out of Hell. Crowley’s Hell, at least. The pillars were dark, the floor almost volcanic, but the place still resembled an office hallway. Just a more chthonic one.

“Meeting with some friends. Can’t execute this whole thing with just the two of us, y’know?”

They proceeded into one room down the hallway to their left. Sam followed Martis inside, and the demons he’d met in the restaurant were there, along with multiple others he hadn’t seen before. At his arrival, the group dispersed, and Sam noticed one demon in particular appearing from behind them.

“Sam Winchester,” she began. “What a pleasure to finally meet you in person.” She was just over half his height- she appeared to be nine, maybe ten years old. Sam felt a wave of contempt, knowing a demon was possessing a little girl. But not this one, it seemed. Though she was standing right in front of him, he couldn’t help but feel like she was only a mirage. Like she wasn’t _really_ there. And unlike all these demons he’d been introduced to so far that flashed their eyes upon meeting him, she simply stared up at him with a hollow, unmoving gaze.

All Sam could do was nod in acknowledgement of her greeting.

“My name is Constance,” the little girl continued. “I understand you’re here to claim the throne of Hell.” She said with a smile that, devoid of context, simply appeared to be the pleased grin of an innocent child.

Sam nodded once again, and the demons were briefly roused in excitement before directing their attention back to the girl.

“Excellent. Please follow me.” She weaved through the group, swiftly exiting with Sam and a couple demons that followed, among them Martis, Belial, and Deumus.

As they followed the little demon girl down the hall, almost struggling to keep up with her light, numerous steps, Sam felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Belial, coming up behind him to whisper something in his ear.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she whispered with a tone that, though mysterious, had a hint of reassurance to it. “She’s not possessing a little girl. She’s an acheri demon. That’s her true form.”

Now _that_ was a name he hadn’t heard in a long, long time. Acheri demon..? Yes, he remembered. Back in Cold Oak. They appeared as little girls, able to appear and disappear at will. They were formidable, despite being rather few in number compared to the black eyed demons he’d encountered so regularly.

The group pursued Constance until she jumped in the elevator, and the four of them rushed over to join her before the doors shut. Once they were all inside, they waited for her to make the next move. She stood still before Deumus unceremoniously pushed the Eighth Circle button and the elevator groaned to life.

“You still don’t know how this thing works?” She murmured lowly.

“Well, you never thought to teach me.”

“It’s a button. And you press it.”

“It’s not important!” The girl snapped, the end of her outburst punctuated with the sound of the doors opening. What he saw beyond them, Sam thought, was finally starting to look like Hell-- every pillar now a precipice, the ceiling now a bleak, starless sky. Screams echoed from all directions, and he didn’t dare try to discern the various flailing, thrashing silhouettes he saw illuminated against the flames below. The four proceeded down a crooked, meandering path while shrieking, howling creatures tore through the murky sky overhead. All Sam knew for sure was that those things were not angels.

Belial and Deumus, undisturbed by the scenery, were engaged in casual conversation, while Sam and Martis quietly marched through the dark, cavernous landscape, their faces lit by the occasional torches they passed. After a surprisingly short five minutes of walking (perhaps it was the time distortion of Hell, Sam thought), they arrived at a rocky clearing that overlooked the Eighth Circle. Man, Dante was pretty accurate. Not entirely, but still.

In the distance, Sam could make out what almost appeared to be a building. He could identify it properly as Crowley's mansion, not doubting it for even a second. He had a similar one topside. And God, it did not fit in down here. 

"Wait.. does Crowley's hideout also have direct access to Hell?" Sam asked lowly, turning to each of the demons surrounding him.

"Yes, but that would _not_ have been a smart move. It's not only heavily guarded, but that's probably where he is right now," Martis answered with enough certainty to reassure Sam that this might just work. "The way this plan is set up is that you enter Hell before the coronation begins, and set the first steps in motion yourself."

"Speaking of which.." Constance skipped over to the center of the clearing, kneeling beside something Sam couldn't quite make out yet. She looked up at him, waiting for him to close the distance and stand in front of her. With small, gentle hands, she took one of his own and placed her very tiny thumb right in the center of his palm.

"Nunc meus rege," she began, "Revelare tuam legatum." And with that, her nail tapered into a claw in the blink of an eye, digging it into the flesh of his palm and cutting it down to the base of his hand. She didn't even react when he doubled over, watching his blood dribble out and pool onto the ground beneath him. He noticed it filling in a bunch of runes etched into the stone, and beginning to glow. "Gehenna, monstra te gladius!" She cried out, and the ground split and jutted upwards.

Between the broken stone, Sam noticed what appeared to be the hilt of something. Hesitantly, he stepped forward and reached out his opposite hand to grab it.

"No, no," Constance whispered just loud enough for him to hear. "With your anointed hand."

Sam couldn't help but make a face at her, turning back and grabbing the handle sticking out from the ground. Though his grip was now wet and slick with his own blood, it seemed to fit perfectly within his rather large hand. It seemed to pulse and whir as he tightened his grasp around it, pulling it out from the ground and revealing a long, spotless blade. As pristine and untouched as it seemed to be, it looked pretty unordinary. 

"Is that it?" 

Sam was surprised to realize those words were not from his own head. Martis stepped forward, fumbling around in his coat and pulling out a roll of gauze. "I know you said he'd have to cut his palm to reveal the weapon, but that much blood loss for this? Come on, man, talk about no theatrics."

As he bandaged Sam's bloody hand, weaving the gauze between his cut flesh and the cold, stark handle of the sword, Belial let out a hum.

"The theatrics, huh? Save your breath, then. That'll be soon enough."

"Hell bestows you your weapon using your blood and the demonic traces within it," Constance explained very quietly. "The underwhelming nature of this sword is because Azazel's blood within you has been diluted."

Sam said nothing. They didn't need to know about the Trials. Or that Sam was probably going to lock them all back in Hell.

"That isn't to say this weapon is not capable of slaying the false king. Every blade crafted by Hell has the potential to slay ordinary demons."

"And Crowley certainly is an ordinary demon," Deumus added.

Sam turned back to them expectantly. He figured now that they had a weapon, it was go time. The group headed back in the same direction they came before making one slight turn. In a shorter period than last time, they arrived at what Sam knew to be Phlegethon-- the boiling river of blood.

"Where do we cross?" Sam asked, looking around for some sort of bridge. The demons exchanged awkward glances.

" _We_ cross on an overpass up that way. You.. have to.. s-swim through." Belial muttered hesitantly.

"You're fucking joking right now."

She slowly shook her head, and he sputtered in disbelief. 

"You're kidding! I can't do that! I'll die! It's a _boiling river of blood!_ "

"Your passing of the first step has already proven you to be capable of doing this," Constance explained, and Sam almost wondered where that voice was coming from before looking down. "This is the next step in the coronation. Swim across the river Phlegethon. Your body and soul will be protected by the blood of Azazel coursing through your veins."

"You're lucky it works that way down here!" Deumus added, letting out a cough as Belial elbowed her in the ribs.

"If you don't believe us, just submerge your hand for a few seconds." Constance walked him over to the edge. Sam handed off the sword to Martis and knelt down- but not before distancing himself from Constance. She seemed like the type to just push him in. He kept one hand on the ground to steady himself and slowly reached in, gasping as his hand was consumed by the thick, scalding blood.

_Gee, Martis,_ Sam thought to himself, _I bet you were relieved to find out Hell was, in fact, just as fucked up as you were afraid it was._

After around fifteen seconds, Sam slowly lifted up his hand- and it was unscathed, just like she said. He wasn't going to try and think about how this worked. He figured he could probably clear it in the same amount of time. Regardless, this was beyond fucked up. He had so many questions he knew weren't going to be answered.

"So," Belial piped up. "You want us to wait on the other side for you?"


	5. V

This shit was getting pretty hard to believe. Sure, Sam had been in Hell, but to be honest, he didn’t really get to run around the joint and see this shit for himself. It was all the same, agonizing, miserable stuff. Nothing like this.

By now, the four demons guiding him through Hell were waiting on the other side of Phlegethon. 

“The sooner you do this, the better,” Constance called out in an unamused tone.

“You got this, Sam!” Martis called out half-heartedly. It wasn’t said with the utmost confidence, but hearing it did make Sam feel a little more sure of himself. After all, this river wasn’t  _ that  _ wide. Couldn’t be more than thirty feet.

Sam tested the waters (or.. blood) once more this time, keeping his hand in for even longer and pulling it out unscathed. He stood up and plunged into the crimson waves, the blistering, stinging heat of the river hitting him all at once. 

As he kicked his feet and pushed through, he felt the blood-filled brook rushing over him, thinking  _ God, please don’t let any get in my mouth, please, God.  _ Somehow the current wasn’t strong enough to send him downstream, but as he paddled with increasing desperation, he began to realize why.

There were things in there. Grabbing at him. He could feel them churning in the depths around him, their fingers just nearly brushing his thrashing limbs. By now, Sam had reached the halfway point of Phlegethon, and it was shortly after that he felt one clutch at his ankle and pull him down, down,  _ down. _

Fuck. _ Fuck.  _ The pressure increased exponentially, his head  _ pounding, _ lungs  _ burning _ , and Sam began to feel like this was  _ way  _ too  _ waaayyy  _ too deep to be a river. But just when he thought the sinking, falling, drowning feeling was going to last forever, the unknown creature released its vice grip. Sam felt the hands disappear from around his ankles, clutching his waist, his torso, his shoulders, as if  _ clinging  _ to him. With his legs now free, Sam kicked as hard as he could through the depths, thrashing violently until he felt the grip loosen. He pulled himself upward, ignoring the feeling of his lungs almost shriveling inside him.

Just as he thought he was going to pass out, he felt the cooler air hit him just as hard as when he first dove in. He let out a long, loud, drawn-out heaving sound as he appeared over the surface of the river. He followed the sounds of the demons cheering before he opened his eyes. Martis leaned towards the edge as if about to hold out a hand to Sam and help him up, but Constance intervened just as he threw himself out of the river and onto solid ground.

“See? He’s got it,” she murmured. The demons surrounded him and got him onto his feet. “Well done, Sam.”

Sam let out a long, rattled sigh in response and shook himself like a wet dog, too exhausted to apologize for soaking everyone around him. He was about to ask about the fucking  _ thing  _ that nearly got him down there, but he figured there was no use. It was Hell. Of course there were going to be  _ things.  _ Scary, frightening things that didn’t make sense.

“Okay. What.. What's next?”

Martis handed the sword back to him, and he could have sworn he heard some sort of trembling, low-frequency  _ groan _ as it found itself back in Sam’s grip. Constance was already beginning her march in the direction of Crowley’s mansion.

“Gotta love your enthusiasm, Sammy,” Belial said playfully.

“Mm, don’t.. call me that. Please.” Sam trailed off. He decided if he were going to really go through with this, he’d put his foot down on the silly nicknames. 

“Oh,” Belial’s cheerful tone seemingly disappeared before she shrugged it off. “My fault. Whatever.”

Now, how the  _ fuck  _ did an ages-old demon respond better to that than his own human brother? He knew it was not the right time to be thinking about something like that, but he’d gotten so invested in these matters he’d almost forgotten about Dean. The poor bitch was probably worried sick. But it wouldn’t do him any good to worry about it at this point.

“Anyway, you’re gonna be slaying a cacodemon next. Trust me, you’ve probably never seen ‘em outside of Hell. But they’re not very fast or limber themselves. Much easier than the last step.”

Sam didn’t know how to feel. He’d just emerged from a river of boiling blood after escaping the clutches of  _ God knows what _ was in there, and now he was tasked with killing some monsters he’d never encountered before, and yet.. he was somehow a little excited. At least it wasn’t going to be very difficult, according to Belial. And this sword he was holding.. well, something about it made him feel a little more secure than he would be with a crummy little knife.

Constance didn’t turn back, but she continued her instructions as usual. “I don’t doubt that we may encounter some ill-meaning demons after this step; it is important that you  _ demand  _ their compliance before attacking.”

Sam almost let out a boorish laugh. “Oh, man, if only I’d known that earlier,” his voice was dripping with sarcasm. “Would have made things so much easier.” 

She was so tiny that when she abruptly stopped walking he almost tripped over her. She turned around and looked up at him, clearly unamused with his sass.

“What do you think we’re doing all these rituals for? Fun? With every step you take you assume more and more of the power Azazel set aside for his heir.. You were not the child gifted with innate command over demons. But that’s what we’re making up for now. And without these rituals, you’re just another ordinary fool keeping the seat warm, like Crowley. Do you understand?”

Staring down at her, Sam’s memories of Acheri demons were abruptly jogged. He thought of Cold Oak, of Azazel’s cold, serpentine yellow eyes, of Jake, of Andy, of Ava..  _ that’s it.  _ Command over demons. Like Ava had. Now Sam had begun to understand. Thinking back on it now, did he really have the strength to wrestle himself out of the grip of that creature in the river?

He solemnly nodded and waited until she turned around to continue walking. He looked over to Martis, who was watching that shit go down like the only thing he was missing was popcorn.

Having said all they needed to, they quietly continued on their way until the landscape changed from a dank, mysterious riverside, back to a desolate, rocky valley. As they came closer and closer to Crowley’s mansion, Sam noticed what he understood were damned souls appearing with more and more frequency. They were speared on sharp rocks, pulled apart by harpies, sometimes even killing and dismembering each other for no good reason. The demons were unfazed by the screams, but Sam flinched every now and then. Now Hell felt like Hell, and not some freaky, random high-fantasy world.

Sam slowly trailed further and further behind Constance until he was side-by-side with Martis. They were all demons, but Martis was the one who initially won his trust. He could confide in  _ him _ , at least. His eyes were still unabashedly kind.

“Have you seen any of these.. these cacodemons?” He asked.

Martis glanced over at him before responding rather quietly. “Not recently. They don’t specifically look a certain way, but I know you, uh.. you know ‘em when you see ‘em, you know?”

“They’re not human?” asked Sam.

“ _ Clearly  _ not human,” he clarified with an awkward smile.

Mere minutes later, the group was roused from their collective silence by the sound of thundering footsteps. A choked cry for help, a rumbling snarl, and a wet crunch. Sam’s stomach flipped, and Martis gave him a brief pat on the shoulder as if he sensed his concern.

They turned a corner in this rocky, maze-like landscape they’d been navigating, and laid eyes upon the creature. It was nearly the size of an elephant, with vascular, leathery flesh all over. Its head was an uneven mass of multiple lolling jaws and beady eyes, and multiple keratinous spines were sprouted all over as if piercing it from the inside. It had way more than four limbs, some even underdeveloped and dangling above the others. One pair seemed to function as arms, holding the mangled, strung-out body of some poor, random soul that had crossed its path. It tore into a large chunk of flesh with a twist of the head and noticed the group through multiple glowing, sickly eyes.

“Compose yourself, Sam,” Constance was far away, but he heard her voice in a clear whisper. “And let the blade sing for you.”


	6. VI

Tightening his grip on the weapon, Sam could feel for himself how perfectly the handle fit between his fingers. As big as this beefy, ugly thing in front of him was, it looked no brighter than a bag of rocks. It caught sight of Sam, and well, how could it not? Its head was all glistening eyes and dull, gnashing teeth. It slowly turned in his direction, and Sam concluded that the best plan of action would be to cut through that neck.

“Do you have any advice?” He called out over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off the cacodemon as it began to stomp towards him. Its steps were unsteady and clumsy at first, before it found its rhythm and began to charge.

“Looks top heavy. Target its balance,” Martis suggested loudly. 

Constance yanked on Martis’ sleeve to get his attention and gave him a pout. “Sir, please stop helping him. He needs to do these by himself.” 

“What, is it really not gonna count if I so much as give him a suggestion? That’s bullshit.” Martis replied. All Constance did in response was stick out her tongue. So much for her mature demeanor.

Sam shuffled in place as he watched the creature begin to pick up speed. This wasn’t slow. Not slow enough. It was as if it had suddenly put all its uneven legs toward the same task, barreling towards him. Its many mouths let out a chorus of shrieks and howls, and Sam felt such bloodcurdling sounds deep in his chest. But this was no time for hesitation. 

He charged forward to close the distance, taking the very last moment to tuck and roll to the side. The cacodemon, noticing his evasive maneuver, tumbled over its own feet and fell over. Sam took advantage of the moment and swung the sword, slicing open its side and sending a thick spray of dark blood everywhere. Its screams grew weaker, but it seemed to only become more enraged as it bowled him over and threw him into the ground. 

His back skidded against the ground and the force knocked the weapon out of his grip. The injured creature let out a hoarse shriek before it barreled towards him again. It immediately grabbed his leg with teeth like a vice, dragging him forward and pulling him away from his sword. They were dull, almost like that of a grazing animal, but they still hurt like a bitch- especially with that kind of unearthly strength. But between the jarring pangs of pain, Sam swore he could hear footsteps. 

Then, in a moment that he almost couldn’t believe, The cacodemon was struck in the face with a considerably large rock, and Sam turned to see Martis had thrown it to buy him time- if only a couple seconds. He pulled himself away from the beast as it recoiled from the blow. Martis kept its attention on him with a whistle, giving Sam the chance to grab the sword from beyond his grip. With the creature’s head turned to Martis, Sam held the weapon upwards with both hands and brought it down on the thing’s neck. Though its hide was thick and muscular, the blade cut right through with a hiss, slicing off its heavy head and sending flashes of orange light crackling through its body. It fell to the ground with a thud, its body writhing for a moment before falling still.

Once they were certain the thing was dead, Martis came closer and extended a hand. His touch was gentle, especially when contrasted with the caustic burn he was feeling in his other hand. He looked down at the sword, still dripping with that dense, inky blood. It felt like it was pulsing in his grip. Must mean he was doing everything right.

“Your leg alright?” He asked, looking down at it. It throbbed in pain, but it wasn’t anything Sam hadn’t dealt with before.

“I’ll be fine,” Sam grunted before meeting his gaze. “Thank you, Martis.. for that. You really saved my ass back there.”

Martis smiled and shrugged like he knew he was the man. Constance and the others made their way over as well, avoiding the dark red puddle that was now forming around the two. 

“Must you keep intervening?!” Constance was frustrated now.

“I threw a rock, pipsqueak, relax.” Martis wasn’t even looking down at her. “Would you rather Sam got eaten by that thing?”

Once again, she was speechless. Not very argumentative, was she? 

Sam let out a rattled sigh and turned to the group, gesturing to his chewed-on leg. “That’s the worst injury I’m gonna get during this whole thing, right?”

Constance chuckled and walked past him. “You’ve got this next part in the bag. It’s a step down. If you can cut the head off a cacodemon with that thing, you won’t have trouble slicing up regular demons.”

Now, Sam was visibly unenthused by that kind of statement. A cacodemon certainly wasn’t possessing any living beings. He had no qualms about that. But regular old demons? Surely there was another way. A hand brushed along his shoulder and he turned back to see Belial walking alongside him.

“That’s not a requirement for this next step,” she said quietly. “Just so you know. But we’re bound to meet some enemies eventually. So it’s good that you can.” Now that he thought about it, she was right. It was obvious that he wasn’t going to get this thing done without a scuffle or two.

The group proceeded on their trek towards the king’s estate. As they got closer, the landscape was changing from a rocky canyon frequented by unsightly beasts to cavernous hallways with seemingly endless ceilings. And the beasts inside took more human shapes.

It was starting to look familiar, now. He remembered being in this part of Hell back when he was rescuing Bobby. Come to think of it, he also remembered seeing a girl who--

“You’re back.” It was the very voice that was crossing his mind at the moment. He turned to the same door he’d first seen her through, and the group slowed to a stop as they noticed what he was looking at.

Like no time had passed since then, she put her hands on the bars once more and smiled at him. “I’ve been waiting for you. Forever.”


	7. VII

The first time Sam had seen this girl behind those bars, he thought she was mistaking him for someone else. Her stoic lover, who had come to rescue her, perhaps. A family member who promised they’d save her if it’s the last thing they did. No.. she was waiting for him. 

“How do we get her out?” He asked without taking his eyes off of her. The eyes that stared back were empty and devoid of light, but she compensated with an overjoyed smile.

“The jailer knows where the keys are kept. We have to get them from her.” Murmur piped up. He didn’t seem to speak much, which Sam thought was a shame. 

“Who knows if it even works like that? Keys, ID cards, fucking _fingerprints_ — only she knows how to open these doors.” Belial spoke with a certain venom in her tone. “But I think she’ll gladly do it if she sees the company we’ve got.”

Martis nudged her and made a quick gesture to his own eye. Belial rolled her single visible one and nodded before turning back to the group. “I got an idea where she could be. Constance, Murmur, Martis, you guys stick around here. We’ve got Agate handled.” She looked back to Sam and motioned for him to follow her.

The two made their way through the dark, torchlit hallways, and Sam wasn’t sure how long they’d been walking. Time slipped away the further down in Hell they got. All around them were ironclad cages, not even fitting for beasts. Some of the people imprisoned made scenes, screaming for help with hoarse, desperate voices, as if they’d been doing it for thousands of years; others made no noise, only looking through the large, dull bars of the cells with watchful eyes illuminated by the small, controlled flames lighting the way.

“You have no problem keeping your composure,” Belial remarked after they heard a prisoner shriek for what was probably the twentieth time. “That’s a good sign.”

Sam gave her a sigh and a shrug. “It’s nothing new to me.” Hopefully he’d be making some better memories here, now. As strange as that sounded. Whatever- he wasn’t trying to think about it too much. “Is this jailer responsible for, uh, your eye?” 

She let out a quick chuckle, but Sam could tell she didn’t think it was funny. “Yeah, what gave you that idea? Martis wasn’t exactly _subtle_ about it.” They turned a sudden corner and Sam took that as a sign that they were almost there. “Kid loves to mess with me.”

From what Sam had come to know about them, something about it seemed.. endearing to him. Belial was at least a thousand years old, and Martis could barely even be considered a demon to someone like her. She could easily waste him (and even Sam) if she wanted to. But luckily, it wasn’t hard to believe that her biggest target of all was Crowley, and was willing to work together with allies that clearly had nothing on her.

The pair took one more turn, and a large, intimidating hallway yawned before them, leading to what appeared to be an exit out of the seemingly endless labyrinthine prison. Belial turned to him with a nod and proceeded towards the opening, Sam following behind and clutching the sword tightly in his hand.

They passed through the arch leading into the rocky clearing, where a tall, lanky form sat atop a large boulder, smoking a cigarette. Above them, the sounds of crackling flames and echoing howls drowned out the sounds of their footsteps as they approached what Sam could only assume was the jailer, Agate.

Belial stopped at a reasonable distance between them, and cleared her throat loud enough for the person ahead to notice.

“Agate,” she began, her voice heavy with tension that Sam probably couldn’t even begin to imagine. The jailer turned her head as she puffed out a smoke cloud, peering down at her with cold blue eyes. Her expression went from neutral to a scowl, but when she noticed Sam in tow, she scrambled off of her perch in disbelief. When she said nothing, Belial spoke up once more.

“Yeah, no, your eyes aren’t deceiving you. You ready to toss in the towel and ditch Crowley?”

Agate was almost as tall as Sam, but she looked awfully scrawny for her size. Half her head was shaved, a long, curly lock of black hair trailing down the right side of her face. She readjusted her posture to seem less shaken up by the company she suddenly had.

“Bullshit. How do I know this ain’t a trick? This is Sam Winchester?”

Sam was slightly offended at first, but after all, this person had no reason to believe he was the real deal. There were ways to imitate him, after all. But they were _way_ too far fetched. After Belial acknowledged him, he felt compelled to introduce himself.

“Yeah. It’s me. I assume you’ve been waiting for me, no?” 

Agate almost seemed indignant at his sudden appearance. She looked around as if there were others listening, watching. “I thought you’d never agree to this. I thought you’d sooner _die._ I-- _we_ gave up on you. What did you expect?”

Sam had nothing to say. She was right, in a sense. A sudden change of heart wasn’t going to be easy for everyone. He almost believed the refusal would be simple, but he remembered this was Hell. And these were demons. The noise around them seemed to die down, when the sounds of snarls and clicking claws began to tease their ears. Two hellhounds were closing on them from the sides.

“You’re no king, Winchester,” Agate’s tone was almost grieving. “I’m not going to throw everything away for _you.”_

“Sam,” Belial hissed out quickly. “Don’t take no for an answer. _Quickly._ ” The last word was especially quiet, and heavy with desperation.

_It is important that you demand their compliance before attacking._ Constance’s words came to him in what was probably perfect timing. 

“Call off the hounds, Agate.” He commanded as best as he could. The growling stopped, but the shadows in his peripheral didn’t budge. And neither did their owner.

“Metus,” Agate called out, “Fetch.”

His body seemingly moved on its own now. He lunged forward with speed that surprised even himself, but one of the hounds still had him beat. Hearing the snarling creature closing in on him from his left, he swung the sword downwards and slashed the beast’s head down the middle, braving the spray of black blood as he came closer to Agate. The second hellhound began its pursuit, but by now, Sam had gotten the hang of things. He easily speared the next one through the neck, pushing its thrashing body off his blade with a foot and finally closing the distance. The wounded hounds had been felled behind him, and its master was being threatened with a bloodied sword pressed up against her throat. Sam was clutching the sword with strength he didn't think he had anymore.

  
“I am not _asking_ ,” he growled. “You are joining us, or you are dying _right now._ What’s it gonna be?”

Agate was staring back at him with the kind of expression he hadn't seen on a demon in a long time. Not since he stopped using his powers. If he was remembering correctly, this was surrender. And if he played his cards right, he'd be seeing a lot more of it from this point on.


	8. VIII

Up until now, Sam felt like he was playing a part. Fulfilling one task after another with no end goal in sight. As if running  _ errands _ . But as he pressed the cold, blood-soaked blade to Agate’s throat and demanded her loyalty, it reminded him what he was doing this all for. It wasn’t just a sequence of events that had to be completed. It was about  _ him.  _ This was something  _ he  _ wanted, and he knew it. No angels pulling the strings, or making decisions for him. He wanted the throne of Hell, and this demon was in the way of that.

“Well?” He pushed the sword closer into her throat, just about to cut into the sensitive flesh. Agate, unable to put up a fight of her own, swallowed her pride and nodded. When he pulled the blade back, she bent down and knelt at his feet, her head pressed down to the ground.

“I lost faith,” she whimpered just loud enough for him to hear. “I lost faith in you. I’m sorry.”

As he often did with things out of his control, Sam felt guilty. With the way time agonizingly creeped in Hell, demons like Agate could have been waiting hundreds of years. He noticed Belial coming up behind him, and she nudged the prostrated demon with her foot.

“Atone for it by freeing everyone you locked up,” She suggested. “Where do you keep the keys?”

Agate sat up, her eyeliner smeared and her hair unkempt. She ran her hands through it quickly and walked towards the butchered face of the first hellhound Sam fought. When they looked closer, they saw its tail begin to wag as its owner approached.

“Ew, it’s not dead?!” Belial sputtered in disbelief, watching the hound pick up its bisected head. Agate reached into its throat and pulled out a small object they were left to assume was the key. She nonchalantly pocketed it and held the dog’s trembling head together until the split disappeared.

“Quite the.. hiding place,” Sam trailed off, distracted by what he saw. “Did it just.. did it heal its head after I sliced it in half?”

Agate helped the other hound back onto its feet, quickly inspecting its wound before standing back up. “Yeah. Been breeding hellhounds with regenerative abilities for a while now. Takes a while for them to get back up, but trust me, these are some tough puppies.” She patted the dog’s flank and they followed her, tails wagging. Belial skirted over to the other side of Sam, away from them. 

“Oh, wow..” Sam was gobsmacked. It seemed he was going to be assuming the throne with perfect timing. Hellhounds were already a piece of work. Now they were even  _ harder  _ to kill. Awesome.

The light clicking of the dogs’ claws as they walked alongside Agate was another melody in the instrumentals around them. The crackling flames, the distant screams.. Sam was already pretty acclimated to the sounds. But they weren’t loud enough to make conversing impossible.

“So,” he began, “You’re really going to free all these demons with..” he glanced at the saliva-dripping object in her hand, “..one key?”

She looked down at it like she didn’t even know about it. “Pretty much. It’s a skeleton key. It’s gonna be a pain in the ass unlocking every door one at a time, but we never thought we’d just release everyone at once.”

“And these are all demons? My, uh..my  _ followers? _ ” Even Sam was getting tired of asking all these questions. But these guys had been giving some pretty solid answers. He needed that kind of security in his life.

“Yeah, all the ones locked up in this sector,” Belial chimed in from Sam’s other side. “We’re not releasing any poor, random souls who got nothing to do with this.” When he turned to her, he noticed her eyes fixed solely on the path ahead of them. 

“Who’s _we?_ _I’m_ the one with the key.” Agate muttered under her breath.

“Yeah, and you shoved it down some mutt’s throat because you were too chickenshit to do it yourself!” Belial hissed.

He wasn’t going to ask about it, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to jump to conclusions , but he knew the two ladies he was walking with had some bad blood. He kept his words to himself as they passed biting remarks back and forth, and he silently prayed that they would regroup with the others soon. 

Ironically, down in Hell, Sam’s prayers were answered this time. He made out the sight of Martis in the torchlight and sped up the pace. 

“You did it, huh, big guy?” Martis met him halfway, only stopping when he noticed the company Agate was bringing along. “Woah, dogs.”

“Glad you decided to join us, Agate,” Constance spoke up as she came out from behind him. “Do you have the key?”

Agate spun it around her finger and smirked as the group parted for her, and she made a beeline for the first cell. She jammed the key into the lock, the heavy iron door screeched open, and the first newly freed demon nervously stepped out.

“S-..Sam..” He gasped, “Sam Winchester? You’re here.. to claim your birthright?” After Sam nodded, the demon took what seemed like an entire minute to process it before he erupted into ecstatic laughter, falling to his knees and bowing his head. “Finally. You’re finally here.”

“Y-.. yeah,” he wasn’t exactly sure how to handle demons groveling at his feet. Hopefully that was something he’d learn with time. However, he had more pressing matters to attend to. “We don’t have much time, though. If you’d please step aside..”

“Oh! Yes, heh, s-sorry, sir..” The demon inched towards the wall and made room for Sam to pass by. It was almost laughable how obedient they were becoming. If he didn’t know any better, he’d suspect it was all just an elaborate act to trick him again. But he did. After all, he was the one chosen by Azazel. By Lucifer. And neither of those sons of bitches were in the picture anymore. 

_ Crowley,  _ Sam’s thoughts were like static electricity on his brain,  _ I’m going to take the one thing you love most. The crown. And I’m going to make things right. _

One by one, with increasing speed, the imprisoned demons were set free. Eventually, Sam wasn’t even stopping to greet any of his newly liberated followers, but they knew their king was on a warpath. Once the party had reached a couple dozen, Constance tugged at Sam’s sleeve. 

“This is but a mere fraction of your legion, Sam. While Agate works to free the rest, it is up to those of us here to close in on Crowley.” She murmured in that small, monotonous voice.

Belial circled in from the other side of Sam, the confident smile back on her face.

“You’re not the king yet, so we won’t make you command the troops. But take notes, alright?” 

Sam paused before nodding. Martis, he had no trouble working this out with. He was a rogue demon with no loyalty to their purpose of destruction and despair. He wouldn’t mind if Sam brought the hammer down on demonkind. But he wasn’t so sure about the rest of them, who looked to him and confided in him like he was going to raise Hell and let them scour the earth. 

Having gone too deep into his thoughts, he noticed Belial had already begun to address the horde behind them. He tuned in just as she began to split them all up.“..Murmur, you lead Vassago, Ornias, and their troops through the left wing. By the time you’ve engaged with Crowley’s lackeys by the entrance to his throne room, Agate should have freed Malphas and a percentage of his legion, who will provide reinforcement.”

Despite how high the stakes were, Sam’s heart was somehow managing to feel more at ease. With hordes of demons moving in at the same time, Sam felt even more capable of pulling this off. Maybe his reign would even last for a reasonable amount of time.

Belial had split up Murmur, Constance, and Agate, and was about to head out with her own group. She turned to the remaining two, Sam and Martis, giving them each a pat on the shoulder.

“And you two gentlemen will follow up on Agate’s group at the main entrance. But to give them time to engage, I suggest you take the long way, Martis.” She shared a knowing glance with him and he nodded back at her.

“Are they going to be fighting with.. bare hands?” Sam briefly interjected. Belial took a second to process the question before she chuckled.

“No, no,” she assured him with a grin. “The short way to the throne room passes through the armory. The blacksmiths are our allies and will provide weaponry. You two just make your way over, maybe enjoy the scenery.” She waved them off. “See you there!”

Sam turned to Martis. “She seemed awfully chipper, you know,” he vaguely gestured to their surroundings, “given.. the circumstances.”

Martis shrugged and began on their path to Crowley’s throne room. “Just another day in Hell.”

* * *

It wasn’t like Sam actually believed there would be any scenery in Hell to enjoy, but he was still disappointed when there wasn’t. Just more of the same dark, dreary, torchlit caverns. Maybe if Sam wasn’t used to it by now, it would even be interesting. 

  
  


“Sam..” Martis began, turning back to him and speaking up over the distant sound of what was most likely hordes of battling demons up ahead. “Thanks for helping us get this far.” He smiled. “You ready to bring that son of a bitch down?”

“Am I  _ ever _ ,” Sam’s voice was barely over an exasperated whisper. He’d been itching to kill Crowley since the day he met him, and it enraged him to no end that it took this long. But as if snapping out of a trance, he realized he’d been here before. Not literally, but in the same situation. In a dark hallway with a mysterious demon, geared up to kill their common enemy. His heart lurched and he stopped in his tracks.

“..What’s wrong?” Martis managed to ask before Sam turned on him, pointing the sword at his throat with a disturbed look in his eye.

“If this is all some elaborate trick,” he growled out through grit teeth, “I’ll cut up every single one of you. Got that?”

“What, you getting cold feet now? Sam, this is no trick.” His voice was gentle under the looming threat of the sword-wielding skeptic. “Now is  _ not _ the time to start having your doubts.”

“How do I know you’re not using me? How do I know all this isn’t part of some other scheme?”

Martis was about to take a step back, before remembering that keeping his distance wasn’t going to make him seem any more trustworthy. “You think  _ all these demons _ are in on some  _ trick _ ? Just to punk you?”

He was expecting a response, but it seemed he had gotten the best of Sam in this argument. The man said nothing, slowly lowering the sword as the fury in his eyes disappeared.

  
“Yeah, Sam, feel free to kill everyone if this turns out to be a trick. I won’t stop you. But I suggest..” he raised a hand to point at the large, ornate doors in front of them, “..you start with  _ him _ .”


	9. IX

“Get in there,” Martis intensely whispered, “..and don’t hesitate for a  _ second _ .” 

This wasn’t a task Sam had to be convinced to do. Kill Crowley. Something he’d have been simply dreaming about doing.. if it weren’t for the opportunity right here, right now.

Then why was it so hard to walk through those doors? Every second he stood there and did nothing felt like an hour.

“ _ GO! _ ” Martis urged, loud enough to startle Sam into stepping forward and throwing the doors open. He kept his eyes on the dark, lavish throne straight ahead, and marched towards it with long, powerful strides. Around them, the throne room was like a cathedral, with the throne and the ground around it on a plateau above the court. Sam proceeded down the path directly in front of him, tightening his grip around the sword when Crowley took notice of him. 

The lackeys to both sides of him were seemingly incapacitated, with two of Sam’s followers restraining each of them. One of them was struggling in the grip of their attacker, the other motionless- staring at Sam with eyes blown wide. All around them, the sounds of violence echoed up to the shadowy cathedral ceilings. It appeared there was no one to come to the aid of the king.

“Samuel..” Crowley began, in a voice Sam heard clearly amongst the pandemonium. “Care to explain what all this is about?”

Sam’s steps slowed to a near-imperceptible pace. He took in a breath as if about to reply, before simply answering with a half-hearted shrug and a sinister smile. He picked up the pace once again and made his way towards Crowley, who was beginning to creep backwards.

“You can’t be..” The demon trailed off, eyebrows furrowing in thought before shaking his head. “You can’t be serious! You want my throne, all of a sudden?” He wasn’t exactly scared, but mostly in denial about the events unfolding before him. As Sam prowled closer and closer, Crowley kept the distance until he fell backwards onto the seat, adjusting his position and crossing his legs so he appeared to have done so intentionally. 

The king threw a hand forward, and his composed demeanor disappeared when Sam didn’t budge. Only once his legs refused to carry him out of harm’s way did Crowley truly understand.

This was Azazel’s heir. The man whose crown Crowley took when he refused to claim it. And now he was here to take it back.

“I thought being the King of Hell wasn’t your kind of scene,” Crowley teased, even as Sam came dangerously close. “What changed your mind?”

Sam stopped as if he actually had an answer, but Crowley was far from finished. “Who’s pulling your strings, Pinocchio? I know how easily you can be swayed into doing peoples’  _ bidding _ .” He hissed out the last word, and Sam felt as if the temperature in the room went up at least twenty degrees. Crowley appeared to notice the rage blooming on Sam’s face, but his stiff demeanor didn’t falter.

“I mean,  _ you.. _ taking  _ my _ crown?! Oh, Sam.. it seems that me and that angel’s little  _ double team _ on you really  _ did  _ scramble the last of your brains.”

A thick, heavy wave of rage, like the kind Sam hadn’t felt in  _ years, _ washed over him. His right arm shot forwards, and an invisible hand crushed Crowley’s windpipe against the throne. 

Normally, a feat like that would worry Sam. Having that kind of strength never came easy. But even after neglecting to use his powers, it seemed they had grown strong enough to inflict tremendous injury on their target’s body. Crowley thrashed and writhed under his psychic grip until Sam snatched his arm back, pulling the demon forward and sending him tumbling. He loomed over the demon, playing with the handle to his sword in one hand. The weight of his power was cracking the stone below Crowley, making him tremble and gasp for air at his feet. Sam wouldn’t have admitted it if it were any sooner, but seeing this troublesome bastard at his mercy gave him a twisted feeling of gratification. 

“Looks like you forgot who you were dealing with,  _ Fergus.” _ He teased, noticing the demons shifting around in his peripheral vision. He looked up at Crowley’s lackeys, released from their grapples, who simply stood and watched. With no one trying to stop him, Sam locked eyes with the demon beneath him, who was attempting to speak through a blood-filled mouth.

“What is it.. you want?” He choked out, trying desperately to pull himself off the ground. Sam tilted his head and gave him a small, almost unnoticeable smile.

“Hm-.. I thought it was obvious. I want my throne, Crowley. You got to enjoy keeping the seat warm while you could.”

He wasn’t as confident as his words made him sound; but he was no stranger to faking it. And it seemed to be working, at least, as Crowley’s face was twisted in an emotion Sam had never seen before— helplessness.

The demon hesitated before his expression turned especially bitter. “Fine,” he murmured through gritted teeth. “But, please.. spare me.”

The additional request took Sam by surprise. Was letting him live alright as long as he took the throne? He stepped back and released his psychic grip on Crowley’s body, watching his crumpled, broken form pick himself up onto his knees, looking up at Sam with such an obviously fake display of submission. Just the idea that he would fall for it made him  _ sick.  _ After all these agonizing years of watching Crowley be let off the hook, he’d become wise to the demon’s tricks. No way he was just going to surrender.

Sam made an obvious show of pulling the sword back, giving Crowley an ear-to-ear smile before swinging downwards and slicing his head off like it was nothing.

It rolled off his broken shoulders, his face permanently frozen in rage and despair. The blood-spewing body fell with a thud at Sam’s feet and the demons, unusually silent, broke out in a cacophony of howls and cheers.

In the distance, Sam heard the doors opening. Perhaps reinforcements for Crowley had arrived.  _ It’s a shame they were too late _ , he thought. On the other side of him, Constance appeared by the throne with a smile on her face.

“The false king is dead,” she proclaimed in a voice that rose above the rest. “Put down your blade and come forward, Your Majesty.” She held out a tiny hand and beckoned him, and he didn’t hesitate in doing so. 

_ “SAMMY!” _

_ Dean.  _ It was unmistakable. Figures he wouldn’t be too far behind. The voice from behind almost made Sam stop in his tracks. But he refused to let him talk him out of doing what needed to be done. 

Not this time. 

Not anymore.


	10. X

Hallway after hallway, door after door.. Dean nearly ran laps around the Eighth Circle looking for his brother. He sprinted his way through crowds of demons, surprised when they weren’t even fazed by his appearance and not even trying to get in his way.

At this point, Dean’s heart pounded in his chest so loudly that he could hardly hear anything else. He had to find Sam— who knew how far into the process he’d gone? He wasn’t going to risk losing Sam all over again. It wasn’t worth it. If it had to be done, they’d find another way.

He pushed himself through the large doors to the throne room. But ‘room’ was almost unfitting in this context. The ceiling stretched into an infinite blackness above them, the numerous pillars supporting an unknown foundation. Several dozen feet away, Dean could identify Sam’s unique silhouette, standing over a body. Behind them sat an ornate crimson throne that seemed to melt into the cavernous walls of Hell itself. Given the context, it didn’t take complex deductions to conclude that the headless body was Crowley. 

This, from where Dean could see, was where Hell’s landscape got more interesting. The floor split into jagged cliffs, with him and Sam atop the highest. And in the shadows down below them, demons were gathering in uneven crowds. Some were just as confused as Dean was, some were intrigued, some were trembling. Especially at the edges of the plateau, where they swarmed like koi fish in a pond, hands reaching out, calling out for their king. And as much as Dean was hoping they were referring to Crowley.. it wasn’t likely.

Sam began to walk away from Crowley’s unmoving body, putting down a menacing looking blade and heading towards the throne.

_ “SAMMY!” _ He called out desperately, his body growing hot with rage when Sam didn’t even turn back to look at him. This whole situation had unmistakable echoes of when he killed Lilith— doped up on demon blood, hellbent on revenge. 

Sometimes, Dean even wished he’d taken the action his dad urged him to a long time ago. After Sam had sacrificed himself to an eternity of torture, he was happily ready to believe that such a day would never come. But now, right before his eyes, Sam was walking into the waiting arms of his dark destiny. And the responsibility of stopping him was on Dean’s shoulders.

With long, desperate strides, Dean chased after his brother. He had brought few weapons he could use against him, but something about the placement of the sword seemed like a perfect coincidence. He snatched it up as he ran by it and charged forward, turning his head away before he felt the blade stab right through Sam’s chest.

The sound of Sam struggling to take in a breath, alongside the melodic drip-dropping as he began to bleed out, willed the surrounding throngs of demons into silence. Sam looked back over his shoulder at him, with that pained expression, and Dean could feel tears welling up at a remarkable speed. There was nothing evil in those eyes. No blood on his mouth. It seemed to Dean like he’d just made a terrible, terrible decision. 

His hands trembled around the handle of the blade, feeling warm blood welling up around his grip as he fought back tears.   
  
“I’m sorry, Sammy. I’m sorry.” Dean apologized so quietly he wondered if the words had even left his mouth.   
  
“Come forward, your Majesty,” the young demon broke the near-silence. “Your death is only the beginning.”   
  
Dean looked up at her from over Sam’s shoulder, too in shock to register what she said. Then, Sam let out a bloody cough before pulling himself off of the sword and staggering towards her. The blood was gushing out of his wounds at this point.   
  
“Sammy!” Dean cried out, jumping after him and swiftly being grabbed from behind. Multiple demons had seized him as if anticipating his attempt to interfere, pinning him to the ground. But in what was possibly the cruelest part, they all angled themselves so Dean could watch Sam slip away.

Sam had stumbled right up to her at this point, looking down at her as he began to sway and rock dizzily in place. She kept her eyes on him as she spoke up to the crowd.   
  
“Denizens of all nine circles,” she began. “Our king has finally come to reap his birthright.”    
  
Excited shouts and howls came from all directions, in all pitches and frequencies. Even from such a distance, Dean could see the smile blooming on her small face.

  
“Kneel, Sam.”

  
As if on command, Sam buckled to his knees and dropped his head before her. 

  
“..And remember this moment,” she brought her hand up and placed it on his head, “because it is the last time you will kneel for anyone.”

Two more demons flanked his dying brother, and Dean noticed one of them holding something in one of their hands. 

  
“With this crown, you will experience the first taste of Hell’s near-incomparable power. And when you have grown into it, you can shed its painful grasp on your mortal soul.”

  
Then they abruptly jammed the crown onto Sam’s head. Dean could see even from the distance that it was a tight fit. Blood welled from where the thorns dug into his skin, yet he made no sounds of protest. The demons, however, let out brief grunts as they twisted the crown into place before releasing their grip, clenching their now bloody fists.

“The name of God turns rotten on the tongues of sinners,” the girl cooed. “Baptize thyself in blood, and be born anew.”

_ “Sam!”  _ Dean cried out, the name tearing through his throat and making the demons holding him down pull back. He took the brief window of opportunity to rush forward, and nobody stopped him as he ran to his brother.

The little girl continued to speak as he pulled Sam’s lifeless body into his arms. 

“His soul has been surrendered to Hell,” she mused, and Dean could almost hear the creepy little grin on her face. “You set the final step into motion, Winchester.”

The young demon paced around them, and Dean felt helpless as the warmth left Sam’s body. He wanted nothing more than to seize her by the neck, throttle her until Sam was magically okay again. But the weight of his grief held him in place. Everything he was feeling, seeing, thinking, was too overwhelming to translate into words. Fear and confusion suffocated every cell in his body, tears flowing from his watery, panic-stricken eyes.

> “As his soul rests in the jaws of Gehenna, rejoice. You will be without your king no more. Open your eyes, Lord. I christen thee..  _ Samael _ ."

* * *

As soon as Sam’s body hit the ground, he felt his strength fade at an incredible speed. Though the environment around them was hot and the ground was near-volcanic, he’d landed on cold, lifeless stone. In the fraction of a second, it seemed his consciousness had faded and he entered some sort of dream. He could still feel the gaping hole in his chest, and only a dream would explain how he wasn’t out of breath and bleeding out.

When he gathered the strength to pull himself up from the ground, he immediately recognized where he was, and his heart sank. It was dark and desolate, yet he could identify his surroundings as the treacherous core of Hell that he’d suffered in for so long.

He was in the Cage.

Though anticipating the presence of Lucifer, Sam’s brows furrowed in confusion as the Devil didn’t seem to make himself known. He looked around, believing he was alone, before recognizing the shape of another person right behind him. He jumped at the speculation of who it might be, before it began to move forward.

Though the silhouette gave him the idea that it was human, it slunk forward like an animal, its head low. When it came close enough to be identified under the faint light of distant torches, Sam recognized that it bore an unmistakable resemblance to him. Specifically with long, unkempt hair, and the severe burns he’d suffered during his time in the Cage. Its skin was scarred and hardened around its eyes, which looked empty and void of any soul.

“Who are you?” Sam bit out quickly. He had no time or patience for whatever illusion this was. He was subjected to enough mind games by everything that had taken advantage of him in the past. And by the looks of it, all these demons were guilty as well.

As if sensing his suspicion, it tilted his head sympathetically and slowly raised its left hand before reaching for Sam’s face, stopping abruptly and opening its mouth.

“You’re here,” it began in a chorus of low voices, almost sounding awe-struck. “Sam Winchester.. may I.. touch you?”

Sam gave it some brief thought before hesitantly shaking his head. Understanding, it sat back and pulled its hand away, and seemed polite enough for Sam to repeat himself.

“Answer me. Who- what are you?”

“I am Hell.”

“Bullshit,” he spat. “Hell’s not a person. It doesn’t have a consciousness. What are you, really?” 

It crawled forward again, slowly, as if being careful not to startle Sam again. Despite its erratic, strange movements, its expression and tone were blank. “I am not bound to earthly laws of self-awareness. If need be, I will manifest in whatever form I can.”

Sam’s back hit the wall of the Cage and he knew he couldn’t go further. The entity before him stopped as if understanding his need for distance, and settled down where it was.

“Then what do you want?” Sam asked, his voice finally void of any malice or distrust. “And.. why do you look like me?”

A lock of hair hung over its twisted, blemished face. Though keeping its distance, it reached out as if desperate to embrace him.

“You seek my power,” it stared expectantly at him, its eyes failing to hide the excitement it was obviously feeling, “..I have been waiting for you. In my company, in the den of my creator, Lucifer, I saw you for what you were- though broken, hurting..” it gestured to the form it had taken, “..you were a formidable, powerful human soul. Your strength, and your fortitude put that..” its lip peeled back in a snarl that seemed unfitting for a human face, “..that egregious farce called  _ Crowley _ to shame. He claimed to have wielded my power, but I refused to accept his authority.” Its sneer melted into a calm smile. “You, however.. would make the perfect king..” It bowed its head. “..and I would gladly lend you my power.” 

It took a second for Sam to process that and reply. “Wait, so was this part of the plan? I-.. I was supposed to die?”

“Yes, Sam. You were not led astray by the demons. They have brought you to your rightful throne. To me.” It curled its dry, cracked lips into a surprisingly warm smile. “Fear not. Even if you refuse me, I will restore your wounds and send you on your way.”

“Why?” Was the only thing left on his mind. “W-what’s stopping you from keeping me here until I comply?”

“I do not wish to force you. It’s your choice. I only hope that you will accept me.”

He didn’t recognize any of the voices that it spoke with, but they were pleading. Sincere.

“One more question,” Sam began. “What will happen if I say yes?”

“The power of Hell-  _ my  _ power— will be yours. And you will be free to use it how you wish.”

He thought about what would happen if he said no. He’d be sent back to Dean.. and they’d just move on, despite the fact that he had literally  _ stabbed him  _ with a fucking  _ sword _ . That was going to make things awkward at the goddamn dinner table. But in all fairness.. Sam would have a hard time explaining why he ran off with a demon again, only for nothing to happen. If he knew his brother well enough, stepping down wasn’t the easy way out.

Sam met the empty, blank eyes of his doppelganger. “I accept.”

With a smile, it raised both hands and placed them gently on the sides of his face. His body went numb, save for a burning, searing sensation where he had been stabbed.

>   
>  “Welcome home..” As it spoke again, Sam finally recognized one of the voices. It was Constance. “.. _ Samael.” _


	11. XI

As the ancient, hellish thing had promised, the wound in his chest closed up and his blood began to flow again. His veins felt full of fire, white-hot electricity, like when he’d gone on that demon blood-fueled bender to kill the horseman Famine. But this time, it was tenfold, coming off of him in waves. Every cell lit up with demonic energy.

Once the circulation had made its way through his entire body, he began to shift and turn when an unfortunately familiar voice made him jolt.

“Come on, Sammy. We gotta get out of here, quick. Let’s go.”

God. That nickname always ticked him off, but now, for some reason.. It was  _ especially  _ infuriating. His eyelids felt heavy, as if they had been welded shut. He made his irritation clear with a low, rumbling growl before he answered— 

“No.”

He felt Dean finally take his clammy hands off his face, and he opened his eyes to see that signature scowl melt off in a matter of seconds. And something about the sight of Dean, stricken with terror at the sight of  _ him _ , made him smile almost deliriously. His head pounded, and he felt the wickedly sharp crown digging into his skin, the blood dribbling over and around his eyes— but it was nothing. After experiencing pain beyond mortal comprehension, this was no more than a slight tickle.

Dean shuffled off of him, causing the crown to twist and cut the flesh even more. Blood began to well up around the thorns.

He watched his brother step back, distancing himself as if he were a ticking time-bomb. His own strength seemed to have returned to him, and slowly but surely, he rose to his feet. Clutching the wound on his chest to confirm it had disappeared, he began to notice the crowds around them shrinking— not in size, but in height, as the awestruck demons bowed to him.

Sam felt the blood running down his temples.

Praises and exclamations shot up from all different directions, and it seemed impossible to get a word in among the cacophony of noise. He looked around, and drank in the sight of these fierce and numerous creatures submitting to him. But as if it were a reflex, Sam raised a hand, and the crowds were willed back into silence.

“I’m.. not leaving, Dean.” He declared slowly, but with an air of confidence. “I have work to do down here.” 

“What’s wrong with you, Sammy, what.. what the fuck’s gotten into you?” For the first time ever, his tone sounded more angry than afraid. All Sam felt compelled to do was give him one more knowing smile.

“Nothing. I’m not possessed. In fact..” he clenched his fists, rolled his shoulders, and a chill swept his newly revived body. “..I feel..  _ pretty damn good _ .”

The blood was dripping from his chin, now.

He gave him a couple seconds for a rebuttal, but when he heard nothing, he began to turn around to leave. “I’ve got business to attend to.” Before he turned his head, he shot a glance to the demons several feet behind Dean. “And it doesn’t involve you.” They bowed their heads to Sam before charging at Dean from both sides and grabbing him. 

“ _ SAMMY! _ ” Dean yelled out, his hoarse shouts quickly muffled before his swift removal from the throne room. And now that he was out of sight, he was out of mind. Sam turned to face the crowds once more, adjusting his posture and preparing to speak to them.

“Crowley is dead,” he began, urging their silence with a raised hand before he continued. ”Everyone in Hell will answer to  _ me  _ from now on.” He scanned his eyes across the faces in front of him. Demons were odd creatures to understand, but  _ now..  _ they felt like open books to him. They stared up at him with an exact combination of reverence and wariness. He could sense the thoughts and feelings of each demon he briefly laid eyes on. “Things are going to change around here. And to anybody that opposes me..” he began, turning his back, “spare me the extra time spent striking you down.. and just _ die _ .”

As if on cue, one demon wrestled his way out from the crowd and charged at Sam, trying to get the jump on him. But the King threw out an arm and the demon was cut in half, falling to his feet with two heavy, pathetic thuds. Its butchered body thrashed for a brief moment, crackling as the demonic force within it died. The uproar disappeared from inside the masses, and all of Hell seemed to fall silent at its newly realized king.

All he heard was the  _ drip-drop drip-drop  _ of blood hitting the ground. 

And yet, he sensed even more hostility somewhere in the crowd.

“Anyone else?” He turned his head towards the specific direction of the ill will, and it immediately petered out and disappeared. Whether or not that meant for good, he would find out eventually.

“Then go. You’re all dismissed.” He waved them off like they were pests. They disappeared in a matter of seconds, until only a couple dozen remained, speaking amongst themselves. Mostly Belial, Constance, and the rest of the demons who had aligned themselves with him early on. When he felt one more approaching him, he turned around to see it was none other than Martis.

“Nicely done, big guy.” His smile and demeanor were as warm and kind as ever, yet he had an air of caution, and he seemed to be keeping his distance. But after that bloody display just now, it was more than understandable.

Having come down from the intoxicating high of rebirth, Sam gave him a friendly nod, and took it upon himself to come closer. “Thanks, man. So.. is it over?”

Martis cocked his head. “Define  _ over _ . The ceremony is over, but I think you’re gonna have to weed out the rest of the rebels before you get too comfortable, yeah?”

It felt as if the world around him had changed, but Martis was still the same. Now that he knew he could tell which demons were untrustworthy, it was quite a relief to not sense anything different in him. Sam had finally put his faith into someone worth trusting, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“I couldn’t do this without you. I  _ can’t  _ do this without you _. _ ” Sam corrected himself, and Martis’ eyes lit up as he continued. “Hell’s a big place. And there’s no harm in more than one person being in charge, you know? I need someone as clever as you helping me manage things.”

“I like what you’re suggesting, Sam. One thing, though..” He gestured to the thorny rings that had attached to Sam’s neck and head. “..You can keep the.. crown.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle. Sam had honestly forgotten about the thorns, having endured much greater chronic pains. It was the blood that occupied his mind. How it felt like warm, gentle hands, caressing down his face. But that wasn’t important now. “So, what, are you in or not?”

Martis held out his hand. “Like I said, you gotta keep an eye out for stragglers for a while. But maybe afterwards, we can discuss the finer details over drinks. How about it?”

The king took his hand in his, and they shook on it. “Sounds like a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that’s the last chapter! thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed it, and follow rex-daemoniorum on tumblr to keep up with the story!


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